Dead Pulse Rising: A Zombie Novel
Page 18
I started in the direction of the closest car, readying myself to peer in the windows, when I heard something scrape along the ground under my feet. My first thought was that I had gotten a lone pebble stuck in my shoe, but the object felt oddly cylindrical. I raised my boot off the material and inspected it. It was a shell casing, 9 mm to be exact. As I gazed along the ground, I noticed several more casings littering the area. I reached the first of the cars and looked in at the driver. His still form sat leaning up against his seat. He wore a typical Walmart business suit and looked as if he had been on his way into work, probably an accountant or something. A cup of coffee lay on its side in his lap, leaking sticky brown liquid across his previously pressed trousers and dripped to the gray-carpeted floor. The brown liquid mixed with a coppery-colored substance that pooled at the man’s feet. I gasped when I noticed a single gunshot wound to the side of his head. Blood and brain matter coated the window and passenger seat. Closer inspection showed a small hole chiseled through the door frame where the bullet must have exited the vehicle. I shook my head.
“This guy was executed,” I said, standing up straight and looking at Richard.
“Was he infected?” he asked.
I shook my head. Honestly, I had no way of really telling. I mean, I was no doctor, but the man seemed to look perfectly normal, at least compared to what I had seen earlier that day.
We walked around the other cars and found the same story in all of them. It hadn’t really fazed me much until I found the van. A mother lay across her dashboard, her head looking as if it had been caved in with a blunt object, perhaps even the butt stock of a rifle. Three children in the backseat, each of them with looks of terror forever etched across their little faces, a single gunshot wound to the forehead is what had ended their short existence. I nearly wept as I stumbled back away from the vehicle.
“Why would they do this?” I croaked out.
Richard walked up behind me and laid a hand on my shoulder. “Come on, friend. We should probably get going. Really not much we can do to help them.”
I fell to my knees and gripped the handle of my .357. “They killed them. For no fucking reason!” I shouted pointing toward the cars. “They blocked them in here and then they killed them!” My anger rose as I gritted my teeth.
“I hate to say this, but perhaps they felt they had no choice,” Richard offered in a detached tone.
I was on my feet in a second. “You’re defending this?” I motioned toward the vehicles and the barrier as I rapidly approached him. My anger over took me, and I lunged at Richard, pushing him hard, slamming him into the side of one of the wrecked cars. Metal and glass crunched as his body struck.
Richard put his hands up in a placating gesture. “Hey, I’m not saying what they did was right. I’m just trying to play Devil’s advocate here. Figure out what their thought process was. Kinda what we cops do.”
I released the man, my anger flowing out of me like air from a balloon. I shook my head, trying to wrap my brain around all of this. The fact that Homeland had set up this roadblock and done it rapidly had told me one thing. They had anticipated this, which meant they knew something like this could happen. It was like 9/11 all over again. The feds knew that shit was coming and did absolutely nothing to stop it, just simply mopped up the mess afterward
Richard broke my thought as I heard him shout.
“Shit!” I looked over at the man and saw him bring up his weapon. I followed his gaze. Several lumbering figures came sprinting in our direction, a dozen of them at least, my outburst most likely having drawn their attention. I looked at them in disgust as one of the figures appeared to be badly burned; his flesh flaked off as he headed in our direction.
“Christ, that one is still smoking.” I pointed out and drew my pistol. I flipped open the cylinder and checked to make certain that all six rounds were present and accounted for. I slapped it back home and made certain to twist it until it locked into place. It would suck to pull the trigger only to have the weapon misfire and blow off part of my hand. Richard and I quickly took up position behind the concrete barrier.
We knelt, supporting our weapons on the Jersey wall’s edge and took aim. Richard fired first, letting a three-round burst strike the closest infected in the chest. The 9 mm rounds tore through fabric and flesh and lodged into at least one other infected who walked closely behind. It stumbled backward for the moment but barely seemed to notice the three new holes that bore through his chest. Richard cursed and raised his aim, this time striking the bastard in the head. The top of his head disintegrated under the assault, and he stumbled forward once more and then fell to the ground in a heap.
I watched in amazement as the one behind him actually sidestepped his fallen comrade. I raised my weapon and peered down the barrel. The creatures—I didn’t feel comfortable calling them human any longer—were still a good distance away, and accuracy at this distance with a .357 was sketchy at best. I didn’t want to wait for the son-of-a-bitch to be right on top of me before I opened up. I aimed for his head and then adjusted slightly higher to compensate for the bullet’s natural drop-down effect as gravity did its job and pulled the projectile toward the Earth.
I fired, and almost to my and Richard’s amazement, the bullet struck home, entering the short bald man’s skull just above his right eyebrow. The back of his head exploded outward in a show of gore as the large bore round exited; his body pitched backward with the impact and landed on the burn victim, who was nearly knocked off his feet.
I almost lost my breakfast again when the bald man struck the creature behind him. Strips of incinerated flesh peeled off in large ribbons as the man slid down its midsection. The burned victim was probably the most disgusting thing I think I had ever seen in my entire life, and that was a lot. He or she, for that matter, being all traces of sex had been melted away. As it crept forward, it reminded me of a marshmallow that had been held in a campfire for a little bit too long. A black crust engulfed its entire body; it cracked and bled as it moved forward, sending rivers of dark blood flowing from each wound with every step it took. The only thought in my head was to try to put the poor bastard out of its misery. It saw me as I took aim in its direction. It reached out a charred hand and opened its mouth, revealing blackened teeth and a swollen tongue. It released a gurgling, ragged wail that sent shockwaves of fear down my spine. The others that moved along with him seemed to follow suit, crying out in what could only be described as sounds of intolerable pain.
A twinge of guilt struck me in the chest as I wondered if these things, these people, were still able to feel pain; perhaps they could, and perhaps they were just unable to control their actions. I gritted my teeth and squeezed the trigger, ending the poor thing’s existence. Its skull shattered like glass as the flames that had burned the figure had most likely left the bones dry and brittle. I gagged at the sight.
Richard glanced over at me. “Steady, friend. This is the best we can do for them,” he said, almost reading my thoughts.
I nodded and did the best to steel myself.
We managed to take down the rest of the infected in short succession and decided it was best if we double-timed it away from the area, figuring that if these things were attracted to noise, it wouldn’t be long before more showed up. How many more could there be? I wondered. I hoped against hope we had seen the brunt of them; however, I had my doubts.
Chapter 17
Alex Bishop stood atop the roof of the middle school and stared out at the teeming mass of infected below. There must have been two hundred of them at this point. He was shocked at just how fast this bug infected. He knew a bit about the disease from the reports that he had recently received before they were sent out on this mission. He narrowly had time to read any of it on his laptop aboard the SUV as they headed to the outbreak site this morning, but from what he knew, the pathogen infected its host and screwed with their brain chemistry, somehow causing them to behave violently and irrationally. He also knew that those in
fected with K5 couldn’t be reasoned with. They would basically stay in permanent attack mode until they were destroyed or succumbed to the virus, but he never anticipated this. Most of the victims seemed to have suffered severe trauma of some sort, some of them with whole limbs missing, either torn off by another infected, or just close enough to the blast site from their attack on the highway to have parts of their bodies blown away.
Bishop had to wonder how in the hell any of them were still up and walking around. Any normal human would have most likely gone into shock and succumbed to injuries; he just couldn’t wrap his head around it. There had to be more to this disease than what the higher-ups had told him about. That, however, was a question for another day. As of now, as far as he was concerned, they were still under orders to procure the cases that held vital information about the disease, information that they could possibly use to stop this shit in its tracks; and at this point, the longer it took, the faster this shit would spread.
Alex glanced over at his new communications officer Jackson; he believed his name was. He was on the opposite side of the roof, setting up what looked like a small satellite dish. “Any luck, troop?” Bishop asked.
“Not yet, sir. Still trying to locate a viable signal. I think the grid must be overloaded with cell phone traffic or something.” The man cursed as his finger struck a hot lead.
Bishop watched him as he stuck his stinging finger in his mouth and sucked on it. “How about the case? Still in the same position?” Bishop asked, smirking slightly at the man.
The tattooed black man with chiseled features took notice of his captain’s amusement and removed his finger from his mouth. He reached over to a supply case and removed a small PDA; he depressed a tiny button on its side and powered it up. A few seconds passed as the small machine went through its boot cycle. Jackson pulled a stylus out from its side and pressed the GPS locator application. It acquired the signal within a few moments, and Jackson had to wonder why they could pick up the GPS sat’s and not the communication’s satellite signal. He shrugged, figuring to be some technical garbage he would most likely not understand. He waited a moment for the information to display and looked over the readout on the small screen. “Yes, sir, it seems to be remaining stationary. Two klicks west of our position!” Jackson said, shouting across the rooftop.
Bishop nodded in understanding. It had been a little over an hour since their arrival at the school. The fact the case had ceased to move meant one of two things: either the man who possessed it was trapped as they were, or dead, which, in any case, it meant they still had a chance at completing their primary mission. Now if they could only manage to get the hell out of here.
Alex chewed his lip, mulling over several escape scenarios that he and his men could use to get out of this predicament. The best option being extraction via an HH-60 Pave Hawk helicopter, a resourceful aircraft that could pluck them off this very rooftop and shuttle them wherever they need to go along with whatever cargo and supplies they could carry. However, all of that hinged on whether or not they could establish comms with their headquarters. Judging by the look on his comms officer’s face, he doubted that would be anytime soon.
Bishop cursed; they needed a plan. Unfortunately, during their sweep of the school, they had blown through several more rounds of precious ammunition as they discovered part of the school’s cafeteria staff that must have come in early to prepare breakfast and prep for lunch. They had to put down three hearty women who damn near made lunch out of half of his remaining men. How the disease had managed to infected the staff at the school was somewhat of a mystery to him. The only thing that he could surmise was that one or more of them had to have come into contact with it some time before arriving at the school, which meant by the time they had responded to the outbreak on the highway, it had already been too late. Alex brushed the thought aside.
He turned his attention back toward the front of the building and gazed out over the parking lot and his government SUVs that remained practically surrounded by infected at this point in time. Getting to them, however, would be their best option at resuming their current mission. At last count, he and his men had roughly fifteen rounds of 9 mm ammunition between them. That wasn’t going to get them far. Unless they could get these dumb fucks to stand in a straight line, they were going to have to get creative. If they could manage to distract the infected below, get them to gather on the opposite side of the building and make a run for their vehicles and the supplies that were held within, they might stand a chance.
Bishop rose up a gloved hand and keyed his shoulder mic; he tilted his head and spoke, “Jones, what’s your twenty? Over.” A few moments passed with nothing more than a slight hiss resounding from the speaker, then a voice broke through the static.
“Basement level. Shit, Cap, I’m surprised I even picked up your transmission down here, over.”
“Everything down there clear, over?” Bishop asked.
“Yeah, nothing down here but plumbing and old books,” Jones replied.
“Good, I need you to double-time it up to the roof. I have something I want to go over with you, over.” Bishop waited a moment for a response.
“Copy that, Cap. I’m on my way. Out.” The radio fell silent.
Bishop waited patiently as he figured it would take a few minutes for the hulking man to make it up to his position.
Jones burst through the heavy metal door that led onto the rooftop; he scanned the area and located his commander. He jogged over to where Bishop stood.
Alex was slightly impressed, and the big man looked as if he had run flat-out up three floors of stairs and had barely broken a sweat.
“What’s the sitrep, Cap?” Jones asked, looking out over the rooftop. “Damn, where in the hell did they all come from?” Jones asked raising an eyebrow.
Bishop glanced over at the big man.
“Your guess is as good as mine,” Alex said, looking back over at the horde.
Several of them stared upward at the duo, with outstretched arms, keening like a pack of wild dogs.
“We’re running out of ammo,” Bishop stated matter-of-factly.
“No shit,” Jones replied.
“We’re going to need to get to our vehicles. Resupply and bug out,” Bishop said as Jones nodded in agreement.
“No chopper?” Jones asked, glancing over at Jackson.
Jackson noticed the big man looking in his direction. The man put his hands up in the air, shrugging.
“I’m getting a signal now but . . .” Jackson shook his head.
Bishop strolled over toward the man. “You’re getting a signal, but what?” Alex asked.
“I can pick up the satellite now—full signal in fact.” Jackson motioned toward the LED readout on the communications array. “But no one is answering,” Jackson said with a look of confusion crossing his features.
Bishop eyed him quizzically.
“What do you mean no one is answering?” Alex could understand the interference in the network, but once they had a working connection, getting an answer from dispatch shouldn’t be an issue.
“I mean just that, sir. Full signal strength, no answer. The problem has to be on the other end.” Jackson looked at his equipment as if it would provide all the answers the captain was looking for.
This turn of events sent acid roiling in Bishop’s stomach. With the amount of money the oversight committee had spent on upgrading their communications equipment, there should be no way in hell they weren’t being heard. So that meant only one of two things: either the equipment had been damaged somehow, or there was simply no one in place to receive their transmission. Bishop made a conscious effort not to reveal his concerns.
“Keep trying, Jackson. Try a few other frequencies just in case there is some sort of interference from the blast.” Bishop knew better, the blast shouldn’t have affected their equipment in the least, but he figured it would give the man something to do and, more importantly, not insight panic among his men.
“What the hell you trying to do, Cap, give me a heart attack?” Jones said, arching his eyebrows.
Bishop smirked. “Sorry. What do you think about all of this?” Alex motioned to the infected below.
“I think it’s fucked, Cap,” Jones stated simply.
“Hooah,” the captain replied. “We need to come up with a plan to distract these bastards, get ’em away from our transports. We have a good lead on our target, and we need to get moving on it before it disappears.”
“So I take that as a no on the chopper then?” Jones exasperated, shaking his head.
Bishop smiled. “Since when did we need a chopper to ferry our asses out of hostile territory?”
Jones looked over at the man. “Yeah, well, I don’t know if you’ve noticed or not, Cap, but you’re getting too old for this shit.” Jones cast a glance at the captain’s graying hair.
Bishop stifled a laugh. “Yeah, well, I’m not getting any younger, and neither are you. So any ideas on how we can get these assholes out of our way?” Bishop looked expectantly at his second in command.
Jones furrowed his brow in thought. “I think I might. Saw some cleaning supplies we might be able to use but . . . we’re gonna need bait.”
Both men turned to eye the wiry-looking communications officer at the other end of the roof.
Jackson’s neck hair stood on end as if detecting their stare and looked up. “What?” he asked.
Both men grinned.
Bishop and his crew all met in the middle school’s gymnasium. Bishop chose the location due to the fact that there were no windows in which the infected could spot them, although he was under no illusions that they were going anywhere, not on their own at least. The fuckers knew they were in there and wouldn’t stop until they had hold of them.